


A Father's love

by Niullum



Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Teen acquisition, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biological Parent Bruce Wayne, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Feels, Jason Todd Has Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25756915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niullum/pseuds/Niullum
Summary: Jason Todd is twelve years old when his world changes and he’s forced to live with this strange man called Bruce Wayne.Despite what everyone says, that’s not his dad,period.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Series: Batman Bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806313
Comments: 32
Kudos: 249





	1. Jason

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Batbirdies for helping me with this chapter! 🙇❤️  
> (cw: gunshot wound, not graphic but just...letting u know )

You see, it all happened like this. One moment Jason was minding his own business, looking out for any leftovers when he heard someone stepping out of a car. And like a pure authentic Gothamite, Jason immediately knew something was off. He glanced up, both of his hands still stuck in the dumpster near the restaurant he frequently visited when he saw a man standing a few meters away from him.

“Shit,” Jason cursed out. It was a tall man. The type of man that at first glance wouldn’t spark any suspicion, but Jason knew better. He squinted at him, looking to see if there was any recognizable trait. Chances were this was another creep who did horrible things to kids or one of dad’s ex-coworkers looking out for some petty revenge.

Jason has lost count of the times he’d been chased for stuff like that. At least the thought of Willis, the father who left him and Mom when they needed him the most, didn’t hurt so much anymore. Life on the street had toughened him a bit.

After all, you can’t mope on an empty stomach. Jason narrowed his eyes, with clear distrust. The black sunglasses and oversized jacket didn’t help either.

And so, Jason concluded it was time to go. Strategic retreat wasn’t a thing to be frowned upon. Especially here in Crime Alley, a place filled with territorial mobs. He cleaned his hands with his jacket, not caring if he stained it and nodded at the man. Maybe if he was fast enough, he could try the Community Kitchen…

Then something moved out of the corner of his eye and Jason froze on the spot. It was the man who waved, casually showing the tattoo on his hand.

The intrinsic snake tattoo on the other's hand made a chill creep up his spine. His eyes widened. It was the same one his dad had after he got a _new job_. The same one that culminated with his Dad ending up in jail.

So Jason did the only thing he could do: he ran.

He raced to the opposite side of the alley where a metal fence was and leaped over it, not caring if it scratched part of his hand.

“Get back here kid!” The man shouted back but Jason paid him no mind. The bullet that grazed his ear only made him run faster. He kept running, pushing people away, knocking over whatever bin or object within reach to slow the other person down. All Jason could hear was his heart beating in his ears, thumping fast in his chest.

He was scared. There was a good reason for that. In the short period, Willis had worked under the Mob he’d gained a lot of enemies. People who wouldn’t mind hurting him just to prove a point.

Five blocks later Jason paused for a split second and in a moment of desperation, he climbed over a rusty fire escape, hoping the dark would be enough to shield him.

He didn’t believe in luck anymore.

Luck was a thing meant for naïve fools and rich people. Between panting breaths, Jason heard something and held still, straining to hear. He didn’t know how much time he stayed there, hidden and petrified. It was only when the first waves of dizziness hit him that Jason noticed something was wrong. Trembling fingers reached out to his jacket, and he struggled to unbutton it. There was a deep damp spot underneath the sweater. The copper smell of blood only confirmed it.

They had shot him.

It was probably when he’d been running, that it got him.

Slowly but surely Jason got out of his hiding spot, careful to not make more noise than necessary. He craned his head to the side and calculated which street led to the only free clinic available in this forsaken city; Leslie’s clinic.

And so, Jason walked. He sucked in a deep breath when the pain spiked after the adrenaline rush dissipated. Every step Jason took only made the pain searing in his abdomen worse. He kept pushing forward one hand leaning against the wall for support and the other putting pressure on his wound, so he wouldn’t bleed to death.

Jason didn’t know how much time he walked that way. The only thing on his mind was that he was growing weaker every minute that passed. Each reaction began to slow down, another sign of blood loss, he realized with dread.

Then Jason stumbled into someone, but he was too dizzy and weakened to offer an apology. A hand grasped his neck in support after Jason almost tripped. He opened his mouth with obvious intentions to thank the stranger, except nothing came out.

“Are you okay?” The other one said, obvious confusion and worry lacing in his voice. “Do you need help?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Jason slurred out, shaking his head which only made him dizzier by the second. He licked his lips and thought of what to say next.

Jason tried to raise his head up, except it bobbled a little. He couldn’t see well, only the faint silhouette of a tall looming figure standing in front of him. Under any other circumstances, this could have brought fear, but the truth? Was that Jason was simply _tired._

“Kid?”

Jason heard _“wait”_ and then the dark figure knelt in front of him and touched his forehead with the back of his wrist. He flinched. It’s warm, Jason thought, subconsciously leaning more. A welcome change from the frigid chilly winds Gotham had.

“You’re wounded.” The stranger said, this time concerned. “Where are your parents?”

“Les-lie,” He choked out as his mouth struggled to finish the word.

“Leslie?” The other asked, now confused. Jason nodded one last time and in gratitude, he passed out.

* * *

Jason woke up to a pounding headache in the back of his head. He groaned when he realized his mouth was dry too. His groggy eyes looked down and apart from the horrible patient gown, there was an IV on his left arm. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of the needle, and he swallowed the impulse to take it out.

He must have been more wounded in order for Leslie to drug him this bad. If there was one thing Jason hated with passion it was needles

When he glanced up, he noticed something was wrong with this place. First, the room was definitely brighter than he remembered which was strange because Jason didn’t remember the clinic having enormous windows or spacious rooms.

Hell, even the walls were _wrong_. Leslie _despised_ the color yellow and yet the whole room was covered in soft pastel yellow tones. Two, everything hurt a _lot_. Oh, and three? There was a vase of _flowers_ on the bedstand next to him.

Jason blinked twice, just to see if they were real and not a figment of his imagination. The bright and cheery bouquet of daisies remained there. He didn’t know how much he stared at them. Not that he didn’t appreciate them it was just… Weird.

Luckily the door opened, and a nurse went to greet him.

“Oh, you’re awake,” said the nurse, probably in her mid-twenties. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine?” Jason asked, confused. “Where am I?”

“Gotham general hospital,” she replied, after checking his vitals. His stomach almost dropped at the mention. It was an unspoken rule in Gotham, that they transferred only the worst or complicated cases to the Hospital. In fact, the only time he’d ended up here was when Jason hadn’t been fast enough and ended up with four broken ribs and a severe case of pneumonia.

“Do you want to see someone?” She gave another smile while fiddling with the IV bag. “I know lots of people were worried about you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

He did not expect to see the unimpressed face of Leslie Thompkins entering the room. She had her arms crossed in the “we need to talk” pose. A thing she reserved for particular occasions, like whenever one of the older kids got into drugs and arrived beaten up in her clinic-

Realization dawned upon him and he grimaced.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong,” Jason blurted out, on the defensive.” If the social worker thinks I got shot because of drugs tell ‘em to fuck off. I was never involved in any of that shit.”

 _You know why_ Jason wanted to add, but he kept it to himself.

“I know Jason,” Leslie said, softly. One could perfectly see that she was stressed or anxious, perhaps a mix of both. “But that’s not the reason I’m here.”

There was a brief pause as Leslie mulled how to say it.

“It’s about your family.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter heavily inspired by Batman #408. There are some lines I took from the comic because it helped my grove. Hope that doesn't bother you.

**Chapter 2**

It was eleven past ten when Bruce reached his eventual and final destination near the East End of Gotham: Crime Alley.

Perhaps the most dangerous place in the city.

It was a place you didn’t want to go alone unless you wanted to get mugged. To this day, Bruce didn’t enjoy going there. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to return and protect the people that lived near the street where they murdered his parents in cold blood. It made the well-kept emotions (the anger and the never-ending guilt) resurface and made his head hurt.

But Crime Alley hadn’t always been like this. History said that a quarter of a century ago Crime Alley had been Park Row, a place filled with bistros, theaters, coffee shops, and townhouses.

An adequate place within Gotham for the middle working class. But over the years, Park Row had decayed into something foul and bitter, corrupted by the greed people spilled over without any sense of remorse. Like a non-treated infection that proliferated uncontrollably, never satisfied, and on the loose.

Every night Bruce went there, it ended the same. It gave him the impression that no matter how much he helped, Crime Alley seemed to only get worse with the years. As soon as Bruce saw a possible spot to start his patrol route, Bruce turned around and turned off the car.

Bruce sighed and got out, hoping that a quick patrol in the area would be enough to distract him. Time had proven countless times that overthinking led to nowhere.

It was cold and the air was so chilly Bruce could form a white mist with every breath. He glanced up and in between the dark looming clouds decorating the sky was the bat signal with its bright yellow lights.

 _Another case to solve then_ , Bruce thought. Ever since they locked the Joker down, crime had risen like bread dough. Without Robin at his side, it took twice the effort in chasing and locking goons down. Maybe that was why patrol felt lonelier since this time there was no incessant chatting or well quip pun whenever Bruce hit a thief too hard. No wonder boy that accompanied his side. No sidekick that could lighten up the mood and bring the light of hope Gotham loved so much.

Now it was just Bruce and his darkened thoughts that kept haunting one. The ones that often led him back to the night where he convinced Dick to quit being Robin after he got shot. A moment Bruce still felt conflicted. On one hand, Bruce knew letting Dick go out of the costume was a good thing to do. The responsible side of him knew it was for the best. Yet another part of him (the more selfish one) wanted him back.

Bruce missed Dick _terribly._ He missed seeing his son at breakfast or talking to him after work. He missed the excited ramblings and lovely personality Dick exuded. But Gotham was dangerous, and the statistics proved so. The incident with the Joker had been an eye-opener that made him realize how easily Bruce could lose Dick. He wouldn’t forgive himself if that happened.

Or worse, if Gotham took Dick’s beaming spirit away.

Bruce couldn’t, no...he _wouldn’t_ let it happen. It was one of the many reasons Bruce had kept quiet to the public about Robin’s disappearance. He wanted Dick to have a fresh start, somewhere far away from here with no title tying him. It hurt and pained him but Bruce knew Dick-

Then there was a gun sound that all thoughts about his son dissolved. A chilling scream echoed through the darkened streets of Crime Alley. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and his skin tingled. Bruce narrowed his eyes. From the corner of his eyes, he saw something moving, dashing past the street. That was enough reason for Bruce to _leap forward_.

Justice called.

* * *

At first glance, Faye or Ma—like the rest of these forsaken people called her— Gunn seemed like your typical friendly neighborhood grannie. A sweet, hard-working older woman who fled to the states a few decades ago. Everyone knew Ma Gunn for the hideous pink color dress she loved to wear.

For being the one who had built _“Ma Gunn's School for Boys”,_ a shelter to all disenfranchised and homeless youths. A person who did anything to help her beloved community. But underneath that sweet and innocent facade laid a cruel, selfish, and unforgiving woman who didn’t exactly care about the rest as long as they did the job.

Tonight was a good example of what happened when one of them failed her. She entered through the back door and walked through the long and vacant hallway filled with the decorated hung pictures of children.

The wooden floor creaked under her determined steps, filling the place with her distinctive cigarette smell. Ma Gunn entered the primary room of the building without knocking. One perfectly manicured hand rested on her waist as her eyes scanned the rest of the room while the other hand grasped the Marlboro cigarette she liked to smoke.

The corner of her mouth curved into a smile, but the outcome looked crooked, sinister, and frivolous, like a lion ready to pounce. Her smile widened, showing her yellowish teeth when she caught sight of _John_ —or “ _Johnny”_ as her boys liked to call him—in a bloodied state. So her boys had given him part of her message, uh?

Good.

She adjusted her glasses back and looked at the thirty-year-old man called John who trembled in fear. There was a bruise decorating part of his temple and the tears were a bonus. Perhaps if Ma Gunn wasn't this _angry_ , she would have reconsidered.

He opened his mouth, probably to beg.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” she said, waving a single finger in his direction. He gulped and averted his eyes to the ground.

No one dared to speak.

One could cut the tension with a knife.

“Oh, _Johnny_ ,” she muttered in that overly sweet accent that could make a grown man gag. She took out a long drag from it and exhaled it in the form of a neat-looking cloud. And only _then_ she turned her eyes back to the quivering adult.

One could smell the fear from afar.

“A friend of mine has been asking about this _boy_ for months now, and you know I don’t enjoy being in someone’s debt. Even less when it’s one of _those_ people.” She fluttered her fake eyelashes decorated with the three layers of cheap mascara she loved to wear and never took it off. It was why everyone knew Ma Gunn for the big clumps of mascara embedded in her eyes. “I never thought a _kid_ of all things,” she spoke with distaste. “Would be so hard of you to catch.”

“He slipped from my hands,” the other blurted out, eyes going wide and completely engulfed in the panic to not measure his words. “I swear I had him for a minute Ma Gunn but the lil’ shit was slippery. The kid knows where to hide.”

Her eyes hardened.

“So you’re telling me you gave up the second you lost sight of him?” Ma Gunn spat out, not hiding the annoyance anymore. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this stupidity will cost me? How much money and power this stunt of yours will affect us? Everything I’ve worked so hard -”

She stopped and took a deep breath.

 _“Johnie_ you know my friends don’t enjoy waiting,” Ma Gun said, back to the overly sweet voice. The guard shifted from position, discomfort “But since you haven’t disappointed me before I’ll give you another chance. Fail me again and-”

She did a vague hand gesture, pointing at his snake tattooed hands.

“You won’t like what will happen next.”

* * *

Bruce felt tired, like the one that crept through his muscles and sat heavily on his bones. He felt exhausted. Walking felt painful, as Bruce had the suspicion he’d broken a rib too. Except the broken rib wasn’t why Bruce felt so distracted. No, a broken rib meant nothing in his line of work.

If he had to guess it would probably be the young boy he’d dropped in the ER. By the time Bruce opened the sleek black door, his brain was clouded with the images of the young- and scrawny-looking boy he’d helped on his way back.

Bruce suspected that, in his quest to get the boy medical attention, he’d also stained his suit with blood. It could probably explain the horrified expression the nurse gave him when Bruce dropped the unconscious teen in the ER. Bruce didn’t want to think about tomorrow's headlines.

Bruce huffed, adjusted the seat and seatbelt.

 _Tomorrow I will deal with it_ , he thought and twisted the ignition key. The engine roared back to life, he pulled away from the curb and sped up. The landscape changed, and it didn’t take long for him to reach the outskirts of the city.

He hummed, but not even the soft and melodic jazz tunes he often listened to whenever he finished patrol didn’t help. His brain was all over the place, consistently going back to the boy Bruce found. _You have a soft spot for children,_ Clark had commented in one of their frequent gatherings, and much to Bruce’s displeasure Clark wasn’t wrong.

There was something about children that always struck a chord in him. The kid’s poor state made his heart ache. The pale and dull skin along with the sunken eyes and ragged clothes was difficult to not forget.

“Rough night Master Bruce, sir?” Alfred spoke minutes later after Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile. “I don’t seem to recall you would arrive this late.”

“There was some traffic on the intersection,” Bruce easily lied with a shake of his head and took off his cowl. The rest of his suit quickly followed, and it was there when Bruce noticed the spot of blood in his cape.

Probably from the boy he helped.

He frowned.

“I’ll clean it,” Bruce announced not looking up. “Thanks for waiting. Has there been any recent updates on the Anderson case?”

“No, but Dick called this morning,” Alfred said conversationally, and it took a lot for Bruce to not flinch at the name. Alfred was not happy. “He finally found an apartment and is thinking of applying to the police academy this spring.”

Bruce stopped and took the time to gather his thoughts.

“I’m glad” Bruce settled for it but it fell too flat and awkward for his taste. The raised eyebrow from his adoptive father was enough for Bruce to add, hurriedly. “I mean I’m glad he’s doing alright. Bludhaven will be good for him. I have no doubt he will excel in the Academy.”

“Well Master Bruce, I’m sure Master Dick would appreciate the call. He still has the same phone number but I think you know that by now,” Alfred replied. “Now, if you excuse me, Master Bruce. I shall return to my quarters. I left your dinner in the fridge.”

Bruce hummed in response.

So Alfred was still mad with him.

 _Tomorrow I’ll call him_ , Bruce thought with a yawn and stretched his back hearing it crack in several places. First, he needed to update tonight’s patrol journal, dinner, report, sleep, and then call Dick.

A few clicks unlocked the bat computer and Bruce stared at the screen. _Jason Peter Todd_ , it read _._ His hand reached to his five o’clock beard as Bruce looked at the bare information available, deep in thought.

There was something about the boy that felt overly familiar. Strangely so, Bruce couldn’t pinpoint _what_ exactly. The last name did ring some bells but it wasn’t that. It was… the expression. The piercing blue eyes felt familiar.

Bruce glanced back at the cape with the spots of blood.

He figured a few blood tests would hurt no one.

* * *

There were a few things that could surprise James W. Gordon at this point. Working as a police commissioner in the Gotham City Police Department and having to see the macabre nature of humans on a daily basis can do that to you. But he didn’t expect to meet the city’s vigilante in his office just minutes before Gordon was about to leave his shift and go home.

One moment Gordon was taking a sip of his coffee -two spoons of sugar and no cream- and the other Batman was standing in his office. It took a lot to not spill the mug or worse, throw it at Batman’s face.

Trust him, Gordon knew he’d catch it. He opened his mouth and blurted the first thing on his mind.

“Is Robin dead?”

A glare that translated into _“no”_ which okay, Gordon could work with that. But damn it if he was not going to jump at the chance to ask what everyone wondered about.

“I can’t say I disagree with your decision to go solo. The dangers of working with a youth outweigh all the advantages.” Gordon spoke hurriedly and opened his hands. “But why not inform the media that Robin is alive? Why allow yourself to be crucified in the press?

“Would they believe me if I told them? No. Do I care what anyone thinks of my work? No. I didn’t come here to chit-chat with you Commissioner. There’s something you need to urgently now. Check the envelope in your locker.”

“What's this about?”

A beat before Batman growled out.

“It’s about Jason Todd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Jason & Bruce meet! Jason is clearly not a fan xD  
> thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, let me know if you like it and have a good day! :)  
> 


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